


a bronx where people talk like violets smell

by craicslave



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-06 09:15:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1852660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craicslave/pseuds/craicslave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this writing, i can't really call it fic, was inspired by lana del rey. this is just a translation of her lyrics into a love story. maybe harry isn't really harry and maybe louis isn't really louis. but in each mind there is a universe and maybe mine can twist the way harry and louis and how they speak to sound exactly like this. and maybe there's no limit to imagination. maybe it's an infinite source.</p>
    </blockquote>





	a bronx where people talk like violets smell

**Author's Note:**

> this writing, i can't really call it fic, was inspired by lana del rey. this is just a translation of her lyrics into a love story. maybe harry isn't really harry and maybe louis isn't really louis. but in each mind there is a universe and maybe mine can twist the way harry and louis and how they speak to sound exactly like this. and maybe there's no limit to imagination. maybe it's an infinite source.

harry leans against the railing of the yacht him and the older man are on and let’s the sea throw itself at him and listen to it wait for him to throw himself back.

he loves the sound of disappointment.

_what do you smell?_

_i want to smell your skin blush against mine._

_i asked you what you smelled, not what you wanted to smell._

_my mind is too clouded, harry, with you._

_why me? i don’t want it to be me._

_that’s what i’m scared of._

harry turns back to the blue water.

harry reminisces about how it must be back home. then he ponders on what home really is. he knows that louis, his current man, calls their bed home, the clammy sheets that harry still pushes between them at the end of the night, the pillow that has been worn out and used for various purposes. harry wishes he wasn’t such a messed up individual.

_do you want to go back, harry?_

harry doesn’t reply, merely turns around and goes to the tanning bed his companion is sprawled out on. louis sits up but harry pushes on his chest and straddles him, lets his naked body fall on louis’ pursed thighs. harry draws circles on louis’ chest. harry draws a spiral, it’s really the golden ration which is a mathematical pattern that is present in all of nature. even our smallest molecule, the trees and the bees, louis’ chest hair.

_i was at the nadir of my life, louis, the men that saved me at night were my zenith. i had only the clothes on me and my charm, my dark and exploitable personality._

louis nodds but harry isn't looking.

_those moments of when i was completely lost in someone, they sustained me. i wanted to be a singer, louis._

harry looks up from the chest hair his finger is entwined in and lets out a small laugh that echoes in the prison of his ribcage.

_i knew they were taking everything from me but i didn’t really mind. i knew it required being completely empty before you find someone that fills you up. people that judged me all have secure professions, they are entrapped souls in this god made birdcage. you and me, louis, we’re not birds._

harry puts both his palms flat on louis chest and places a kiss just between his two thumbs.

_we are shipwrecks at the bay of life, louis. we seek excitement where none is to be had and we are decisive in our indecisiveness._

_why won’t you let me in then? why do you always keep me at the bay, harry, why won’t you let me be the shipwreck that we are?_

_i don’t want you to be a shipwreck. i look at you and i imagine you a king, louis, i stroke your skin and i feel unworthy of your nobility, i look into your eyes and my eyes melt in their sockets. why are you a shipwreck, louis? why are you a shipwreck when you could have been a king?_

louis wants to tell harry he loves him, he wants to stop talking about shipwrecks and kings and live in the now. now louis loves harry. now louis loves harry but knows harry doesn’t love him back. not in that way.

– –

_louis, who is that?_

harry holds a platter of mango pieces with toothpicks in them and leans forward to whisper in louis’ ear.

_the man we’re conning, darling, so make sure to smile extra hard around him._

_you know i don’t smile._

harry saunters away from louis and lets him mingle with their targets. the breeze outside rustle the trees and it sounds as if they call for him, the friction between wind and leaf whispering the name harry. he steps out on the balcony. another man stands there with his hand in his pocket and the other one on the railing.

harry wishes he was a lady so he could twirl around in big puffy dresses in the middle of the dance floor and he begins spinning. he wishes he was dazzled and dizzied but instead he is just nauseous and goes to stand next to the man he had spotted when he had come in. the man had been looking at him but not been surprised by the absurd behaviour. harry’s sort was pretty common amongst the riches, they were harmless. they would attach themselves to someone and ride along until they found someone else and hop onto their next ride.

_how far away do you think it is from here to the moon?_

_why?_

_then i could figure out how far lance armstrong was from the nearest star._

_then you should calculate the distance from the moon to the sun._

harry’s reply stuns the man and he turns around and sits himself on the wide marble railing with his arms crossed. he was undeniably attractive, his hair was swiped across his forehead with a large amount of hair products and his lips were raw.

harry loved boys with raw lips.

_do you want to kiss me?_

_yes._

_then why don’t you?_

the man took on the challenge and leaned forward. harry placed a mango between his lips and chewed on it. the other man retired back.

_not like that._

_then how?_

_stand up._

the man stood up.

_what’s your name?_

_patrick._

_pull me in._

he pulled harry in towards his chest. harry left his plate on the railing and put his hands on the man’s shoulders. the man squeezed at the end of harry’s back and massaged that area as harry kept taunting him with his lips running against his jaw and everywhere around his mouth but his lips.

_close your eyes and kiss me._

the man closed his eyes and went to grab harry’s lips with his own. this time harry let him.

harry moved his hands to the man’s cheeks, his thumb went further back and settled just by the lobes of his ears. the kiss was simple and they kept releasing each other’s mouths and reconnecting as to show the other they weren’t eager.

_harry._

the voice came from behind them and harry finished the kiss before he turned around to face louis.

_we have to go._

harry released the man from his grip and grabbed his plate of mangoes before he started walking out of the mansion after louis.

_where are we sleeping tonight?_

_you can sleep wherever you want, harry._

_i want to sleep next to you._

_i want you to only kiss me._

– –

_i love parties like these._

louis head is on harry’s chest and they’re dancing slow while the rest of the crowd dance with moves appropriate to the music playing. there are girls with their tops off in the pool and there are guys that try to fall on top of them, and the lights are flashing too fast to catch a glimpse of the people around them.

harry dances to the pace of his and louis’ heartbeat. they are dressed in simply shorts and their chests illuminate with glow-in-the dark paint.

a table a few metres away catches harry’s attention and he moves slowly towards it, louis’ hand in his. harry sits louis on the couch that is placed before it and sits on his lap. there are lines placed out on the table and harry’s fingers buzz in excitement, he prefers dampening drugs that make him even slower than he is but tonight he wants to fuck up, he wants to go hard, he wants to drown in the inconceivable claustrophobia brought on by coke.

it’s a shitty drug for a shitty man.

the crowd is full of broken minds which makes its existence all the more appropriate 

he looks at a girl that holds her hair to her side whilst her other hand slickly places a rolled up benjamin franklin between her and the lines cut up and assorted on a copy of junky by william s. burroughs.

louis puts his hand on harry’s thigh and squeezes, like he doesn’t want him to do this but harry argues that it doesn’t last long anyway and he ignores the warm scratching hand on his body. his eyes blink twice until the girl beside him lends him her coiled up bill.

one line.

two lines.

harry’s head falls back and he snorts to get it to the back of his throat and presses a few times on the nostril that isn’t numb.

and god he forgot how fast it works because before he even has his head down he is up and pulling at louis hand and pushing through the crowd until they’re in the middle. until they’re flush against each other and harry can jerk out his embarrassing dance moves but in that instance nothing can touch him and he smiles.

louis dons the responsibility to keep him out of harms way and uses the opportunity to kiss harry, to grab his face and sway with their gazes locked. he wants to dance with harry like they’re a young couple instead of wine drinkers. when harry tells louis he wants to fuck on the roof, he lets him lead them towards the stairs and knock down a locked door so they can climb out of the window.

harry’s laugh sounds over the music and it’s the only thing louis’ ears can register.

_i have been looking for someone that had everything to gain and nothing to lose. i found you, louis. you found me, louis. we are, imagine the american flag swaying atop the san fransisco bay area, how it let’s the wind carry it but it’s trapped to the flag post. we are, imagine a teenager cutting that flag down and it flows through the air. we are that flag in the latter scenario. we are our darkest fantasies transformed into reality in the worlds of each other. have you ever met someone that is an experience? i have. i am fucking mad! but, i am free and i am with you._

_are you coming off your high?_

_you’re an experience, louis._

harry falls on his back, deliberately. he watches the stars turn from being in a fight to standing away from each other in a symmetrical pattern. he closes his eyes and smiles.

harry whimpers.

instead of laughing.

at the absurdity of the lack of poetry to the beat he lives by.

at the burning bourbon that has gone down his life.

at the war in his mind.

louis sits down and harry peeks up at him. maybe louis isn’t that bad. maybe he isn’t going to break him down. maybe he can be happy with him.

then the low of the cocaine trip hits and he just want to crawl out of his skin and exist as bone. he hates his skin, he hates the tattoos that litter them, he fucking wants to die.

so maybe he should.

louis doesn’t take note when harry gets up, he doesn’t understand when harry goes to the edge of the roof and turns around. but he does get up and pull him in when the corners of harry’s mouth twitch into a smile.

– –

harry presses a kiss on louis’ adams apple.

harry thinks that him and louis are a sin. harry also thinks that eve sinned enough to cancel this out.

harry kisses louis’ collarbones.

louis is sleeping but awakens to the kisses that are peppered across his chest. it is as if harry is seasoning him for the day, a good luck sendoff.

_will you buy me pearls to swim in, louis?_

_i’ll buy you an ocean so that all the pearls it contains are yours, harry._

_do you promise to come home safely._

_only if you keep this our home, harry, without you this is just a large boat._

_and with me it’s a shipwreck._

harry never looks into louis’ eyes when they are in bed. harry doesn’t know why that is but he swallows the lump that has started to build up whenever louis leaves him. his kisses go lower and he swallows louis whole, he swallows all that his mouth can take, he swallows until he can’t swallow anymore.

harry gets up from the bed.

louis gets up to follow him into the shower.

harry doesn’t face louis because he doesn’t want him to see the tears that fall on his cheek.

louis puts his hands around harry and he thinks how broken he must be, he thinks how bad his luck must be for him to fall so helplessly for someone this damaged. harry stops crying and turns around and doesn’t give louis time to examine the bloodshot eyes before he kisses him softly.

louis’ groin twitches for the second time that day and harry’s stays limp in its place. he has immense self control, louis knows. harry doesn’t hesitate and gets on his knees, he lets his bare skin chafe against the tiles as he cries louis into a climax. the water falls on top and hides the tears that fall down harry’s eyes and louis repeats that he doesn’t have to but harry doesn’t want to find someone else to ride with, he doesn’t want this ride to be over, so he will do anything for louis to keep him around.

harry gets out last and pulls out a bottle of wine for breakfast. louis has cracked two eggs and washes the fresh fruit they had picked up the day before. the breakfast is silent as usual and harry feels something inside his chest, refusing to label it worry just yet. he knows the leap from worry to love is small and he thinks that he can’t come close to that jump – ever.

they load the dishwasher together. they get dressed together. they walk out together. then harry drops louis off and comes back alone.

_promise to come back to me._

_harry, have you started falling for me?_

_yes. please be there to catch me at the end of the fall._

_i’m not waiting until the start of winter to be back._

it tugs at louis heart and he steps out of the car with his chest weighed down, he worries he will not be able to carry out what he has to do.

louis manages.

louis comes home a few days later with duffelbags full of dollar bills and finds his muse on the wrong side of bed, a bottle nursed in his arms, and tears that have stained the carmine silk sheets.

harry wakes up to louis soft steps that weigh down on the floorboards around the bed.

he smiles again, just for a short while.

_did you bring me diamonds?_

_soon._

louis puts the duffelbags on the bed and zips them open. harry doesn’t have to look inside them to know what they contain. he ignores them completely and pulls louis up on their bed and pushes him down underneath him. harry kisses louis eagerly, very unlike himself, and tears louis shirt too impatient to get it above his head.

_have you missed me._

_i want you inside me, i want you inside me more than i have wanted air in my lungs, or food in my stomach._

harry’s words are earnest and he can’t really breathe because he is falling really fast and the air around him is whistling in his ears. he leans forward to kiss louis and whispers that he wants louis on top, because he really don’t think he can keep himself up anymore. louis does as he is told and harry is left to pant and grip the sides of the bed as the light brown haired boy goes down on him.

white knuckles.

louis chokes.

harry cums.

harry is ready to turn the night around and he grabs louis shoulders and pushes him under him while he pushes his chest against louis’. and afterwards when it’s all said and done, harry straddles louis and grabs a handful of the money in the bag at the end of their bed. he smells it and then throws it atop them, making it rain. louis laughs out loud and harry does too.

and harry leaves a bruise on louis’ chest in the mark of his palm because he pushes down so hard as he rides him raw and with the green bills chafing louis’ back.

and harry rides.

and harry rides hard.

and the lump in harry’s throat turned out to be a knot that unravels when you are happy.

and he was so god damn happy.

– –

louis doesn’t come back.

there are no duffel bags just a call of a sloppy louis crying into the receiver that he is in prison and that harry has to come see him.

_harry, it’s horrible._

_oh, oh, louis._

_harry, please say you’re coming._

_i’m coming._

harry looks at the duffelbags and smiles. he fills another with all his belongings. a comb, two pairs of underwear, and his copy of howl by allen ginsberg.

_patrick._

_hello?_

_pick me up._

– –

a sort of melancholy settles around harry when he realises he misses louis.

_are you harry?_

harry doesn’t replies, he just looks out at the sea and sips on his glass of wine.

_do you ever look at the sea and think that it could drown you?_

_don’t mind him mom, he gets that way. harry, fuck, my parents are here… get your shit together._

_hi, my name is harry._

he repeats his lines very eagerly and patrick’s parents get surprised by his sudden change of heart.

_hi, harry. how is it?_

_i’m very good, oh yes i’m great. did you and mr. fitzgerald take the boat out yesterday? i’m really sorry if we left a mess behind, you know two crazy young kids that have fallen in love. i love your watch by the way, is it new? did mr fitzgerald get it for you after you caught him with his secretary the fifth or the second time? wow, i really admire you for pulling of that shade of lipstick i myself could never do it, since, well, i’m a man but there’s no shame in trying._

harry spills that out in a matter of seconds and before patrick’s mum knows what she’s been hit with and before patrick or his father have time to interject, harry dashes off to the balcony.

harry still spins in balconies and wishes he had a dress.

harry still kisses other men than those he is supposed to kiss.

harry still eats mangoes and becomes suicidal after doing blow.

harry never jumped because he always imagined louis pulling him in and maybe he shouldn’t have left. but there’s no time to think when you are young and back to finding something as he loses himself. harry sleeps with a lot of guys and not always with condoms but he guesses their orifices are way cleaner than his, his unworthy and want-to-be rich orifices.

harry imagines it’s the 80’s so he doesn’t really care.

patrick doesn’t like his possessions being shared or being disrespectful towards his parents.

_harry, you have to apologise to my parents._

_what if i don’t?_

_can’t you just sit still and smile?_

_you know i don’t smile._

_harry, i want you out of my house._

_but, you picked me up?_

_i picked you up for me, not every man i invite over._

_will you buy me pearls?_

_harry, just get the fuck out._

_will you buy me the ocean so all its pearls are mine?_

harry doesn’t know how to carry all the six duffel bags but he carries three at a time and goes back and forth. a necklace by patrick gets in the way and he tears it off, throws it at patrick’s house but it lands a foot away.

a cab parks beside him. he pulls at the sweat soaked socks in his chucks and gets in.

he reaches the prison and throws the cabdriver a hundred dollar bill he managed to swipe from mr fitzgerald, he puts the rest of the money back in his short's pocket.

harry looks ridiculous.

and awfully suburban.

he also smells of bourbon.

_i’m posting louis tomlinson’s bail._

the guard is confused and tell him he has to get to the main office for that.

harry doesn’t understand.

harry looks at the guard as if he is going to open the gate any moment and let louis through.

maybe he should have bitten his tongue. maybe he should have abided his time and dealt with patrick’s parents.

why was he such a screw up?

when was louis going to come out to him with his eyes swimming in blue and love for him?

when was louis going to come out to him.

eventually the staff at the prison understand that harry isn’t quite all right and assist him to process the papers.

louis finally comes out and harry cries.

_you weren’t there when i fell._

_you weren’t here when i was caught._

_i love you._

_i’ve been waiting all my life to tell you i love you too._

harry smiles.

_you never smile._

_you make me smile._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> please comment what you thought and any suggestions/improvements.


End file.
